


Spousal Privilege

by MsMay



Series: My DCU [9]
Category: DCU
Genre: All of the Lanterns are Marshals, Barbara Gordon is in her wheelchair and Cassandra Cain is mute because why erase disability?, But Real Love, Fake Marriage, Fake/Pretend Relationship, It's a Proposal AU are y'all ready????, Jason Todd Typical Swearing, Jason Todd Typical Violence, Jason Todd describes himself as an independent private investigator, M/M, My endless quest to include Helena Wayne in the Batfam, Rating will likely go up in later chapters, The Marshals describe him as a menace to society, no capes AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-06-08 10:53:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15241818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsMay/pseuds/MsMay
Summary: Kyle Rayner thinks about Jason Todd a lot. Not in a sexy way! . . . Okay sometimes in a sexy way. But that's not the point.The point is that four years after Kyle Rayner last saw Jason Todd he reappears out of the blue and turns Kyle's world upside down. Now the only thing that can save both of their skins from a life sentence is a shot gun wedding.But between Kyle's suspicious co-workers and Jason Todd's overbearing family can they actually pull this thing off?





	1. Drunk and Disorderly

Kyle Rayner thought about Jason Todd a lot. Not in a weird way. Or in a sexy way. Okay, sometimes in a sexy way, but come on. Have you seen Jason Todd? Kyle accidentally walked in on Jason while he was changing once and. . . Wow.

That day, Kyle learned that Jason Todd is always _seriously_ packing.

In all seriousness though, Kyle Rayner thought a lot about Jason Todd, but he thought about him as something like a missed opportunity. Kyle Rayner was thinking about Jason now, in a cheap club where the flashing lights obscured the faces of everyone around him. Everyone could be anyone. Anyone could be Jason.

Four years ago, when Kyle needed a ride home from college, Donna offered to drop him off on her way. She was taking a friend’s brother home too. Oh, which friend? Dick? Dick was great, his brother must’ve been great too.

It was wrong to think of Jason Todd as nothing but Dick Grayson’s younger brother.

“You alright?” Donna tapped his skittle shot with her own empty glass.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, knocking back the blue vodka. He was a little out of practice and the back burn had him scrunching up his face. “Just thinking about that road trip.”

“Oh yeah, that was wild,” she said.

“You know, I actually use that whole ‘caught poachers hunting buffalo’ thing on my resume,” he said. Kyle had never ridden a dirt bike before then, and after that whole debacle he never really wanted to get on one again.  

Donna snorted a laugh.

“What?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he said. Donna gave him a look.  

“Jason did all the work,” she said.  

Kyle lurched forward, and wagged his finger in Donna’s face. She tried to swat his hand away, but she missed the first few times.

“Listen,” he said, after Donna finally managed to smack his hand away. “I pulled his dumb ass out of the La Brea-fucking-Tar Pit. There’s still tar on my favorite Georgia O’Keefe shirt. So he owes me.” Kyle was actually wearing that shirt now. It was black, so the tar didn’t really stick out, but it was there, on his hem. He could feel it.  

“He’d still kick your ass if he knew,” Donna said. Kyle hummed.

“Do you still keep up with him?” he asked. Jason didn’t actually have a phone when they went on that road trip, so Kyle never got his number, but it wouldn’t surprise him if Donna had heard from him. Jason had clearly been into her the whole trip. They had probably hooked up, but Kyle never had the guts to ask.

Kyle figured that Jason must use carrier pigeons to communicate or fires his gun off in morse code. Or like, maybe he burns cryptic messages into corn fields or some shit. Honestly, Kyle had no read on Jason sometimes. You could tell him that Jason communicated via cleverly hidden clown paintings or sea shells left in places they really shouldn’t be and Kyle would just say “yeah that tracks.”

“No one really keeps up with Jason, you know?” Donna said. “He sort of just appears and then consumes your life for a few days, and then he’s just gone. It’s like, good seeing you. Try not to bring a cartel manhunt with you next time.” 

“Oh my god, I know right?” Kyle said with a sigh. He was just drunk enough to feel relieved and not guilty for talking about Jason. Besides, Donna actually new Jason, it wasn’t like with Hal. Or Guy. Or Jess. Or John. Or Baz. Or that weird old man on the third floor who swore up and down that he was totally a marshal, even though he definitely wasn't. 

Donna gave him a puzzled look.

“Have _you_ seen him?” she asked.

“Lot of near misses at work. Every case file it’s like he’s managed to piss off a different crime syndicate. The guy gets around. Sometimes it’s so wild to me that I’ve gotten slushies with fugitive outlaw Jason Todd.” Kyle hiccuped once. “Hal still thinks he’s responsible for like a billion crazy Sinestro-related schemes. And like, I’m on Jason’s case. Literally, I am assigned to monitor extralegal domestic groups --"

"Drunk words please," Donna said. 

"Uh, outlaws? I monitor outlaws with Guy. Anyways, the only reason Hal hasn’t called a nationwide manhunt is ‘cause I can’t imagine Jason hurting someone.” He ran his finger around the rim of his shot glass and tried not to think about how even John was starting to nag him about the whole outlaw situation.  

“Do you not remember what he did to that guy in the 7/11 parking lot?” Donna asked.

“He wouldn’t hurt someone who didn’t have it coming,” Kyle said. Donna gave him a long, steady look. Now Kyle was starting to feel guilty for bringing it up. He shouldn’t have brought up work stuff when he was supposed to be blowing off steam with Donna. The whole point of getting smashed at a cheap club was to take his mind off his stupid case. Stupid Jason Todd, off wreaking havoc in Montenegro. It was  _so hard_ to get approved jurisdiction to operate in Montenegro. So hard.   

“. . . Okay,” Donna said after a minute.

“I need more to drink. Where’s the bar?” he asked. The flashing lights obscured the form of the room. For a second Kyle’s Marshal training kicked in, and he was compelled to find an exit point. There was a door off to the left, no alarm above it. Must’ve been a service exit. He should check what the alleyway looked like.

Thankfully, Donna grabbed him by the shoulders and physically pointed him towards the bar, banishing all thoughts of exit points from his brain and replacing them with thoughts about vodka. There were still Jason thoughts in his brain though. That was probably the vodka’s fault. Clearly the answer was more vodka. What had he been doing again?

“Have fun, get the rest of the rainbow shots,” she said, giving him a slight shove.  

Kyle stumbled to the bar and shouldered his way past a man that was too big. He was just. Too. Big. Very big. And very tattoo. Lots of tattoo. The man tried to elbow Kyle back. A perfectly sober Kyle could have taken that guy in his sleep, but drunk Kyle was pretty sure he was about to fucking _die_. However, before the blow connected, someone else’s hand intervened. Kyle followed the hand across the bar, to the bartender’s threatening smile. 

“Woah there fellas, no fighting. House rules,” he said. The guy with the tattoos grunted out a bunch of low swears and then shoved himself away from the bar, knocking Kyle a bit as he left.

“Sorry about that,” the bartender said. “I should have cut him off earlier.” 

The bartenders voice was low and gruff, tinged with the rattle of a smoker’s lungs. A sudden flood of heat hit Kyle. He hoped it was just the skittle shots, but he had the sneaking suspicion that there was something about the voice. Kyle had been to this place enough to know that the bartender was new, and he had worked as a Marshal long enough to know that this guy was a little dangerous. Honestly that was exactly Kyle’s type. 

The tattooed guy, Donna, rainbow shots, they all flew from Kyle’s head the second that bartender opened his mouth. 

Kyle tried to focus his eyes on the bartender’s face but his vision kept swimming. All he could pull from the man’s face was his dark skin, the square jaw, clean shave. His body was easier to make sense of. His uniform was stretched tight over his chest, and his forearms were bare where his sleeves were rolled up. Kyle started talking before he had a chance to think.

“You’re hot.”

The bartender visibly startled. Then he leaned forward on the bar, settling his forearms on the sticky, dark wood.

“Oh, yeah?” he asked with a small smile. His smile seemed sharp, wolfish.

“Yeah, you look like this guy I used to know.” In the back of his mind, Kyle felt like he probably shouldn’t dump his feelings on some poor new hire, but then again Kyle was chatty when he was drunk. Besides, this guy was a bartender, and pretending to care about drunk people’s problems was all part of the job.

“What kind of guy was he?” the bartender asked.

“Absolutely batshit. Where’s Louis?” Kyle settled himself into a seat at the bar. The bartender barked a short laugh.

“Louis had to take off for the night so they called me in. I just finished my training yesterday.” His hands had scars on the knuckles. Kyle wondered if he boxed.   

“Lucky you, lucky me,” Kyle said.

“I guess you must come here a lot?” the bartender asked. Another wave of feeling hit Kyle and this time he was pretty damn sure it was the vodka.

“Aaaaall the time. I love this shit hole.” Kyle stretched himself across the bar like a cat, and then settled with his head in his hand.   

The bartender straightened up, laughing so hard that he had to wipe tears from his eyes. The light caught on a grey streak running through his loose bangs.

Damn, he look like Jason. Kyle felt a tingle run through his body that his sober brain was distinctly uncomfortable with. His drunk brain wanted the bartender to come back within kissing distance.

“Oh my god,” the bartender said, “you are _so drunk._ ”

“Not that drunk. I need more rainbow.” Kyle spread his hands over the counter to show that he was Serioustm and Sobertm.

The bartender snorted a laugh.

“You need more water,” he said. Kyle pointed a finger in the approximate direction of the bartender’s face.

“You don’t get paid to give me water,” he said. The bartender just shrugged, and waved him off like it was no big deal.

“I’ll get paid either way.”

Kyle swung his legs back and forth under the bar and watched the neon lights above the back mirror twist and spin. The bartend's hands looked rough. 

“How?” Kyle asked. The bartender’s lips twitched.

“You’re gunna tip me.”

Now it was Kyle’s turn to snort a laugh. He propped his head up on the bar and blinked a few times.

“Why’s that?” he asked. The bartender leaned across the bar so that they were nearly nose to nose.

“Cause you think I’m hot,” he said. He was so close that Kyle could smell the smoke on him; smoke and something else. Something familiar, like gunpowder. The shifting blur before Kyle’s eyes seemed to part for one precise moment. He was clear in Kyle’s eyes; beautiful.

Each piece that his drunk brain had rendered separately now fit together into one whole. He saw what he imagined Jason looked like now, outside of mug shots. There was the grey streak, the thick scarred arms, a smirk on his full lips. He had sharper features and eyes that were a little brighter than the last time Kyle had seen him face to face. As shiver ran down Kyle’s spine, sudden and intense, like the first blue norther Kyle had ever experienced. The smell of gunpowder brought that memory back. He had been laying out on the hood of Donna’s car next to Jason Todd, staring up at the sky and thinking about that fact that he was three weeks late getting home from college, and he didn’t even care.

It threw Kyle for a loop.

In Kyle’s defense, it wasn’t easy to suddenly face the fact that you were projecting a crush so hard that you actually _saw_ the guy’s face in a stranger’s. That was a new low for Kyle.

Thankfully, it didn’t bother him for too long. He’d be more ashamed about that in the morning.

Still that one moment of hesitation was enough to snap the spell in two. The bartender leaned back, breaking that kiss-possible proximity. He popped his lips a few times and busied himself with a tray and a bunch of shot glasses.

“How many more skittle shots do you need?” he asked. Kyle had almost forgotten why he was there in the first place.

“Uh, I need from green through purple,” he said. He was definitely talking out of his ass, but he liked green, and he knew the rainbow ended with purple, so hey, why not take that many shots? 

The bartender made a face but he started setting out clear shot glasses regardless.

“What, you don’t like green?” Kyle asked. Some part of him wanted to slow down the moment, to get them both distracted with each other again.

“Green is actually my favorite color, but green skittles taste the worst,” the bartender said with a serious pinch in his brow. Kyle laid his head down on the bar and giggled.

“They all taste the same,” he said. The bartender rolled his eyes, but didn’t say anything else. Kyle languished in the silence. He tried to think of something witty and sexy, something that would make the bartender laugh and lean forward again. Then the bartender started talking.

“That guy I remind you of . . . Is he someone to you?”

“Hah!” Kyle half stood in his bar chair. “God no!”

The bartender paused for a moment. Kyle thought that maybe the bartender was tense, but he couldn’t quite figure out where the tension came from.

“Ouch,” the bartender said. Kyle shrugged his shoulders and dropped back into his seat.    

“I just mean he doesn’t do people. He’s kind of. . . an outlaw type, you know?” Kyle said, settling back down in his seat. “He’s like Jason Borne, kicking ass across the country, trying to figure out who he really is. We had crazy times, but his life is pretty much only crazy times. Its like, I was in the first movie, but I never made it into the sequels, you know?”

At this, the tension in the bartender seemed to dissipate, and he went back to wander around the bar, looking for something. Kyle felt like he was taking a really long time to pour shots, but hell, Kyle wasn’t going to complain. Instead he found himself rambling again.

“Besides he’s like, so hot it’s fucked up. I’m not even a thing to him.” Kyle picked at his cuticle and tried to pretend that admitting that out loud didn’t hurt. 

“Hm, doubtful,” the bartender said, giving him a small smile. Kyle felt his cheeks burn, but he was sure he misunderstood. 

“What?” he asked. 

“I think you should give yourself more credit,” the bartender said. The long, slow, look he gave Kyle made Kyle feel both thrilled and self-conscious.  

“It’s not that I’m not fine, he’s just crazy, stupid, fine,” Kyle said. The bartender turned back around and leaned across the counter. His stared back at Kyle with a precise intensity that made Kyle’s stomach do backflips.

“You know, if you walked up to him, told him all the things you’ve been telling me and then looked at him like you’ve been looking at me, I think you’d pique his interest,” he said.  

Kyle opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out for a moment was a squeak. Then he swallowed and tried again.

“Wh-uh . . . really?” he asked.

“Trust me, guys like that love it when you stroke their ego. I would know, I’m one of them.” The bartender winked at him, and every single piece of Kyle’s brain that was still functioning stalled out. When it didn’t look like Kyle would be responding anytime soon, the bartender huffed a laugh.

“Here’re your drinks. Enjoy,” the bartender said, taping the tray. Under his finger there was a folded up napkin, kept in place by one of the shot glasses. He tapped it one more time before someone on the other end of the bar called him away. Kyle stared down at his tray for a moment and the let out a long, slow breath.

Holy shit he had to tell Donna about the bartender.

Kyle snatched the tray and waded through the sea of churning bodies and flashing lights. His body was starting to tingle in a way that told Kyle he was starting to come down off his drunken high but he still couldn’t keep the stupid smile off his face, even as he tripped over his own feet a few times. Then he saw the telltale glimmer of Donna’s favorite sparkly black body suit.

“There you are!” she called. “I thought you died.”

Kyle gently set his tray on the ground and took a deep breath.

“What,” she said, sitting up a little straighter, “what happened? Why are you putting the vodka on the ground?”

Kyle slammed his hands down on the table, and looked Donna dead in the eye. Donna jumped out of her skin. 

“Donna I just had the most intense sexual encounter of my entire life, and he didn’t even touch me,” he said. 

“Holy shit,” she said, a slow smile creeping up over her face. .

“I know right? I’m going to marry him.” Kyle threw himself down into his chair and fanned his face as he remembered how close the bartender had gotten.

“Did you get his number?” she asked. Kyle paused for a moment to think.

“Um, no,” he said.

“Did you get his name?”

“Uh. . .”

“Kyle, oh my fucking god,” Donna said. Kyle looked back towards the bar, but he couldn’t see him. Would it be weird to go back and ask? He would probably think that Kyle was a sloppy drunk, and Kyle wasn’t even _that_ drunk. Besides, if he had wanted to give Kyle his number wouldn’t he have written it down? Wait a minute, written it down . . .

“The napkin!” Kyle said. Donna was faster, and snatched the trap up form the ground before Kyle could grab it. She put the tray on the table and slipped the napkin out. As she looked it over once, her eyebrows began to rise. 

“Well, does it say anything?” he asked.

“Take your shot first,” she said, pushing the glass over to him. Kyle felt his stomach twist.

“That’s not a good sign.”

“Drink your vodka, Kyle.”

He obediently knocked back the bright green liquid, and felt it go down like juice. That wasn’t good. If he couldn’t feel the burn, maybe he was a little too drunk.

“So what did it say?” Kyle asked.  

“One more,” Donna advised, sliding the shot towards him. Oh, now Kyle just felt like an idiot. He took the shot this time without any bother. “And, last one,” she said.

“Oh fuck me, he thinks I’m an idiot doesn’t he?” Kyle said. He took the last shot and sighed.

“I mean he must, because the note says, ‘These are Gatorade, not booze. Make sure he drinks them and gets some water. He’s blind drunk.’” Donna turned the note around so that Kyle could see the words scratched into the paper. She was snickering the whole time, but Kyle didn’t feel bothered. The bartender had signed the note, XOXO and drew a little winky face. That meant he was kind of into Kyle, right?

When he didn’t respond to Donna’s snickering, she sighed and tapped her fingers on the table.

“So, should we talk about how you apparently have the hots for Louis?” she asked.

“Not Louis! The guy subbing in for Louis, jeeze,” he said with a scandalized hand over his chest. Kyle felt particularly betrayed by the idea that he could possibly get drunk enough to have the hots for Mullets-Are-Making-A-Comeback-Louis. Donna made a face and tilted her head to the side.

“Louis was the one up there when I went to get the first two rounds?” she said.

Kyle felt a twinge on the back of his neck, just below the base of his skull. Guy always said that was what happened when your nervous system moved faster than your brain. Kyle had never actually felt so blindly anxious before, but now, drunk in a cheap club, he felt that _something._ He looked around the room. The only thing to catch his eye was the slow swing of the side door off to the left, as it eased shut. It could have banged shut in this room with all the noise going on and no one would have noticed. But it eased shut. That was the exit he had marked out earlier.

“Weird,” Kyle said.

He felt that twinge at the back of his neck again. The unsettling memory of the tattooed man from the bar flashed through his brain. Where had that man gone after he left the bar? Had he left the bar? Kyle had stopped paying attention. Had Kyle turned his back on that guy?

Kyle craned his head to get a look at the bar, but he only glimpsed parts of it through the other bodies. Did he see the bartender? There were too many people to tell.

Who just went through that door?

 “Oh, well. Louis must’ve taken a half-shift,” Donna said with a shrug. She lightly elbowed him, and smiled. Kyle smiled back. She must’ve thought he was trying to scope out the bartender again.

“I need to pee,” Kyle said by way of distraction. Donna nodded and then sipped on the drink in her hand.

Wait, when did she get a drink?

“Okay, can I be real first? You were gone for a really long time, and there was this cute ginger and I think I might go home with him,” she said, stirring the straw. Kyle felt an intense wave of relief wash over him.

“Yes! Yeah, go fuck your ginger. I’ll, uh, call myself an Uber,” he said. He felt around in his pocket for his badge, only to remember a few seconds later that he was wearing skin tight jeans and his pockets weren’t real. Donna held up his keys and he snagged them before attaching them to his belt loop with only a moderate amount of fumbling.

“You’re welcome,” she said. She threw up a peace sign and then stood to go. “You should go talk to your sexy bartender. Also, your phone is in your shoe.” Kyle reached into his boots, and yup, he had stuck his phone in there. God, sober Kyle was so smart. Points for sober Kyle. Or maybe, that had been Donna’s idea. He didn’t remember. Point was, he got this.

“Oh, I am so gunna get him,” Kyle said. Donna laughed and slapped him once on the shoulder.

“And if you fuck up, this is going to be a really funny story,” she said before she slipped away into the crowd. 

Kyle pulled his phone out and shot Guy a quick message in the event that he did something stupid:

_Smthn weird’s goin downhn at Louis._

_my birthday bar_

_im drunk_

_but i got this_

Kyle may have been a little drunk, but he was a man with a mission, and he trusted the weird twinge at the back of his neck. The rest of the crowd didn’t quite seem to get the whole, “man with a mission,” but that was fine. Kyle had more than enough practice shoving his way through crowded dance floors. Hal’s idea of team bonding was clubbing and Guy’s idea of team bonding was getting everyone drunk on foreign liquor in bars where no one else spoke English. Kyle was basically trained for this.   

The crowd up at the front of the bar was thicker than it had been just a few minutes ago. People were talking, and a few were shouting obscenities. It wasn’t until Kyle had elbowed his way into a seat that he realized why.

The bar was deserted. 

There wasn’t so much of a trace that anyone was there.

Kyle felt cold disappointment wash over him. It sobered him up a little bit, but Kyle hated it none the less. Part of him wanted to wait around or to make excuses. Maybe the bartender just went to the bathroom. Or maybe he had to go break up a dispute. But Kyle knew better. The back of his neck pickled again, as he let himself be pushed out of the crowd.

Why did Kyle always have to set himself up for failure when it came to crushes? 

By the time Kyle had worked his way around the dance floor to the service exit, his disappointment and self-pity had transformed into a seething anger.

Oh he was so going to kick this bartender’s ass and break his stupid nice face. 

He threw the door open and marched out into the alleyway, irreverent of any danger. It didn’t matter, he was still tipsy, and a little heart broken, and also investigating crime, so he could just do whatever.

However, when someone yelled at him it wasn't the bartender. 

“What the fuck are you doing here?” the tattoo guy called.

Shit, Kyle had forgotten about him again. He stood at the far end of the alleyway with a big ass confetti-cannon-looking thing braced against his shoulder. Did he have that in the bar? Kyle figured he didn’t. He wasn’t _that_ drunk.

“What the fuck are _you_ doing here?” Kyle shot back. “I’m an officer, and you snuck out. So I’m here. Following you.”

The tattoo guy shook his head.

“Fucking idiot,” he said as he dipped his head to look through this scope.

Wait, scope?

It was about that time that Kyle realized the confetti cannon was not a confetti cannon, and was, in fact, a rocket launcher.

“Fuck,” he said.

 “Get down!” a body slammed into Kyle's, pinning him to the dingy alley floor. Overhead something screamed and then a wave of heat, debris and sheer, overwhelming noise crashed over them. Kyle felt a large, rough hand tuck his head underneath their shoulder as glass rained down on the alleyway. As soon as it trickled to a stop, Kyle’s savior was on his feet.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Kyle. What are you doing?” hissed a familiar voice. Kyle lifted his head and came face to face with his savior. 

Jason Peter Todd, with his stupid leather jacket and his singed hair, stood above Kyle, back lit by the bright orange flames of a newly-shelled building.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah I've never written drunk people before so like idk how well this reads. But whatever, it was fun none the less. 
> 
> Here are just some clarifying facts about the story: 
> 
> Kyle Rayner is the youngest member of the United States Marshals, Green Badge devision. They are tasked with mediating "tough spots" within the legal system. So foreign spies/legal organizations, and domestic extralegal groups. 
> 
> The Marshals are the Lanterns, and they all love Kyle dearly, no matter how much shit he gets himself into. 
> 
> Jason Todd is a self described independent private investigator. 
> 
> They met four years ago when Donna was giving them a ride home from college. They kept getting side tracked during the road trip, and so their two day drive took like 3 weeks. They got up to some Shenanigans. 
> 
> Jason dropped out of college after that, so Kyle never saw him again. Jason didn't have a phone because he didn't have money and was going through a "fuck Bruce and his money" phase.


	2. Aggravated Arson

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boys get rowdy, there's a small point of view shift, and Hal gets the shock of his life.

Kyles brain had stalled out. According to Marshal intelligence, up until that morning, Jason was in Montenegro. Part of Kyle was convinced that this had to be a dream. The sound of a raging fire filled his ears and cast heat against his sweat covered skin. Jason Todd looked down at him. Kyle squeezed his eyes shut and tried to get his thoughts in order. 

“Are you going to sit there, or are you going to help me?” Jason asked. That was the kick in the pants Kyle. He pushed to his feet as a shot rang out through the alleyway. He looked over at Jason to see a pistol in his hand. The tattoo guy dropped his rocket launcher, and clutched at his shoulder. Jason’s shoulders rolled back, and Kyle could tell he was going for another shot.

Kyle’s hands shot out and slapped at Jason’s hands. The second shot went far askew, and the bullet cracked against the alleyway’s brick wall. Sheer shock made it easy to pry the pistol from Jason's hands. 

“What the fuck are you doing?” Jason shouted. Kyle held him back as Jason tried to take his weapon back. 

“ _You_ don't have lethal authority,” Kyle said.

"Well  _you_ can't exactly shoot straight right now," Jason said. 

A shot rang out again, and this time Jason froze up. 

Cold fear gripped Kyle, and he dragged Jason behind the nearest dumpster, gun forgotten in the alleyway. There was a tear in the side of Jason’s shirt. Kyle reached for it.

“Did he--”

“I’m fine,” Jason said, slapping his hand away. Another two shots rang out, and this time Kyle heard the bullets strike against metal as the guy with the tattoos fired on their dumpster.

“ _Shit_ ,” Kyle hissed. They were currently pinned down behind a dumpster and the other guy had both a _gun_ and a _rocket launcher_.

At least the adrenaline was sobering Kyle up.

“Okay, so how about this. I rush him as a distraction and then you jump him,” Jason said. It was a shit plan but Kyle didn’t have anything better.

Then his eyes landed on a crate next to the dumpster. Half used bottles from the bar. One of which was Spirytus Vodka.

“Please tell me you still carry your lighter,” Kyle said, pointing at the bottle.  

“Yeah, but what . . . Oh, fuck yeah.” A wolfish smile lip up Jason’s features, as he fished his lighter from his pocket and tossed it to Kyle. Then he tore the sleeve off of his button down like it was nothing. Kyle tried really hard not to think about Jason's biceps as he shoved the cloth into the mouth of the bottle, and then lit the end.

“On the count of three,” Kyle said.

Jason nodded, and got down into a runner’s crouch.

“Okay, one . . . two . . . three!”

As soon as Kyle lobbed their Molotov cocktail, he heard the telltale sound of a police cruiser’s siren. The sudden shattering of glass and the rush of new fire covered up the sound, but in just a few seconds, as the eco of broken glass faded, the siren’s wail rose to meet it. Kyle felt some of the tension in his shoulders ease away. The cavalry was coming.

Jason was running before Kyle got the chance to tell him, but that was alright All they had to do was keep the guy busy long enough for the police to show up. Kyle followed right on Jason's heels.  

It had been a long time since Kyle saw Jason fight, and it made him feel almost nostalgic. Jason was built like a brawler, but there was something precise and calculated about the way he approached every swing. He kept the big guy distracted as Kyle twisted the gun out of his hand, and kicked the rocket launcher away. Still, it was a brutal fight. The tattoo guy wasn’t just big; he was a damn good fighter, and Jason spent almost as much time covering for Kyle as he did covering for himself. It might have been two against one, but Kyle was still tipsy. 

They were making almost no headway, when Kyle took stepped on a loose bottle. It rolled out from beneath his foot, and with a few quick steps Kyle saved himself from a sprained ankle. Unfortunately those few quick steps had left him open. A huge, meaty fist connected with Kyle’s mouth, and sent him flying against the brick wall. Someone called his name, but by now, the sirens were wailing too loud for Kyle to hear more than abstract sounds. Kyle felt Jason haul him to his feet as his head cleared.

“Alright, hands in the air!” The command came from a beat cop parked at the entrance to the alleyway. He was braced behind the door of his cruiser. His hand was on his hip, and his eyes were trained to Kyle and Jason. Kyle leaned against Jason’s shoulder, as he felt cold dread settle in his stomach.

“What? No, listen I’m an officer. I don’t have my badge right now, but we’re not the bad guys,” he said. The beat cop drew his gun and trained it on them. Jason immediately put both his hands in the air but Kyle kept talking. He looked for the tattooed guy, and just saw his form disappearing through the flickering shadows of the fire. He gestured that way, through the fire. 

“No, no, Officer, you don’t understand the other guy—”

“On the ground,” the officer shouted. His hands were shaking around his gun. “Get on the ground.”

Kyle snapped his mouth shut and put his hands in the air.

“You should have just let me shoot him,” Jason muttered as they both slowly dropped to their knees.

 

. . .

 

A slow rotating siren cast alternating shades of red and blue across the pallor of their faces. It swung their shadows round and round, bright spots of black against the red brick walls, and grey alley floors. Jason felt like he had been on that alley floor for hours as more and more police cruisers showed up. Well, both of their names held a lot of weight. It made sense that things would get complicated.

Kyle was seated too far away for Jason to feel warmed by his presence, but he was there: physical. His shadow moved in time with Jason’s shadow. His face held the same pallor as Jason’s face. There was blood, a cut on Kyle's lip. Jason took in a deep breath and let his head roll back against the red brick.

“Fuck,” he said. He could see Kyle move his head out of the corner of his eye.

“Yeah,” Kyle said. Then he began to laugh. Maybe it was the adrenaline, or maybe Kyle was angry. Jason laughed a lot when he was angry, and he hated that. He hated that he picked up most of his habits from the people who had hurt him most. After a moment Kyle’s laughter died out. “I can’t fucking believe that the first time I see your face in _years_ I get arrested. Is getting into trouble your secret superpower?”

“In my defense, you’re a nosy fucker,” he said.  

“I am a trained officer of the law. I'm never nosy, just investigating,” Kyle said. Jason huffed a laugh and rolled his eyes. His hair grazed the rough bricks, and a few strands got caught, pulling unpleasantly at his head. When he winced Kyle gave him a worried once-over, like maybe that bullet really had hit him, and he was only now bleeding. Jason didn’t like that look. He didn’t like the way fear made Kyle’s smile falter.

“If you had stayed inside, I could’ve just been that hot bartender,” he said. For a moment Kyle’s eyes were blank and uncomprehending. Then his eyes went wide.  

“Oh, fuck me,” Kyle groaned and put face against his knees. The tops of his ears were bright red. 

“Yeah, yeah, you’ve been asking me to all night,” Jason said with as much of a laugh as his bruised body would allow.

“Fuck you!” Kyle picked his head up from his knees and socked Jason in the shoulder. Jason just huffed another laugh.

“You’re really bad at coming up with comebacks,” he said.

“Shut up. Your face is busted to hell, and you’re an asshole,” Kyle said with a laugh. His eyes followed the forms of the other officers. Kyle must’ve picked up on some small detail about those cops, because his face froze mid-laugh, and then fell in slow motion. Maybe he recognized one of the officers. Maybe he just felt a sudden shame.

Then Jason saw him. Hal Jordan was standing there, his pale brown hair lit up from behind by the police brights so that he looked like one of those bleach-bottle blonds. With the introduction of the feds, this was now a particular kind of mess. Jason should really bolt before this got any more complicated. A night in holding was nothing, but Jason had made a living by avoiding big brother. He wasn’t about to get caught now.

Kyle shot him a look out of the corner of his eye and then conspicuously turned his attention away.

Was that permission to split?  

Jason felt his stomach twist.

“Hey,” Jason said, bumping his shoulder, “Even with this busted face, am I still ‘stupid, crazy, fine’?”

Kyle’s face flushed bright red, but he barked out a bright and unbidden laugh.

“I should have left you in the fucking tar pits!” he yelled, shoving Jason’s shoulder and laughing until tears began to bead on his lashes. His smile held true, even as he settled down, and a slow anxiety began to creep back into his features. Then he tried stand, back pressed against the brick wall for balance.

He made it maybe halfway to his feet before he looked down at Jason. Jason looked back at him. Kyle opened his mouth and then cut a look over at the police line where Hal was talking to one of the local cops. He dropped back down to Jason’s side, so close that their knees and shoulders brushed. His breath rushed warm over Jason's cheek as put his mouth close to Jason’s ear.

“If you’re going to run, go when I’m with Hal. He’ll be pretty distracting tearing me a new one, ” he whispered. He away just long enough to look Jason in the eye. Then he winked, eyelashes still damp, and he said, “Consider it my tip.”

Jason went as still as a body in the grave. In a few seconds time would pick back up again, but for now, for Jason, the world had narrowed in on the sill image of Kyle’s dark eyelashes, and the hint of a smile.  

Then Kyle stood. The police brights cast his body in a warm, dark shadow, and revealed a steady white halo at his edges.

Kyle’s breath had been so warm against Jason’s cheek.

And as Jason watched Hal Jordan pull Kyle off into the open, gaping, maw of the alley way’s exit, he knew that he wasn’t going anywhere.

Jason let his head thump back against the brick.

“Shit,” he said. “ _Shit_.”  

 

. . .

 

Hall looked like he had been dragged out of bed by the local police. His flight jacket was thrown over a grey undershirt and a pair of sweats. His hair was a mess and he had heavy bags beneath his eyes.

“Hal,” Kyle began.

“No,” Hal said. He stopped one of the beat cops and made a grabby hand motion. “Keys.”

When the cop just stared back with uncomprehending blankness, Hal hooked his thumb over his shoulder at Kyle and then flashed his Marshal badge. The cop fumbled at his hip for his keys. As soon as Hal had them, the cop made himself scarce.

Hal picked out a key and moved to unlock Kyle’s cuffs before he froze.

“You know Guy wanted to come? He got your texts by the way,” Hal said. He stared at the cuffs and the key. “After we got the call he just kept saying that it must’ve been a problem with the grape vine. Just a little bit of drunken shenanigans. He was so sure that you couldn’t have been involved in something this messy. He thinks so much of you.”

Hall popped the cuffs off and yanked them away. Kyle’s gut twisted with a thick knot of guilt.

“Hal,” Kyle tried again, rubbing at his raw wrists.

“Don’t,” Hal said, holding up a warning finger. Then he turned this way and that, cuffs and keys in hand. The beat cop had done a good job making himself scarce. “Where did he- fuck it- I’ll just . . .” Hal tossed the cuffs and keys onto the hood of a nearby cop car.

“Hal, I can explain,” Kyle said. He was damn near shaking now with the dregs of adrenaline, and the desperate need to fix this situation.

“I know!” Hal rounded on him, almost red in the face. “I know you can explain Kyle. You can always explain when it comes to Jason Todd, and you know what? When it was some conspiracy theory with the case, that was fine. But this? This a potential accessory to  _aggravated arson._ That's not even to mention the  _rocket launcher?_ Where did that come from Kyle?”

"I don't know," Kyle said. 

"You don't know?" Hal said.

“I’m sorry,” Kyle said with the ugly twist of his gut that came from knowing he was only sorry that he had gotten caught.

Ha’s shoulders sagged and he looked away.

“No, I’m sorry. I didn’t come here to yell, I just . . . When I saw you two, I lost my temper. I asked to come because I thought you’d need help, and Guy has never been great at politics.”

“Yeah?” Kyle asked. Hal nodded, with a small smile.

“Yeah. Thankfully, this situation is kind of rigged in your favor. You just need to be clear about what Jason did from the get go. Give a consistent deposition, testimony, whole nine yards. They’ll probably still put you on probation until things get cleared up but--”

“Woah, wait Hal. I can’t do that,” Kyle said.

“What? Why the hell not?” Hal asked. He ushered them both a little farther away from the beat cops so that no one could accidentally overhear them.

“Because that’s not what happened here. This wasn’t Jason’s fault. There was another guy,” Kyle said.

Hal screwed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose.  

“For fuck’s sake Kyle.”

“I’m serious. I was here this time Hal. Someone straight up tried to murder me with a rocket launcher, it’s not just some theory. Jason is innocent.”  This whole mess was so clear in Kyle’s eyes, clearer than it had ever been. For the first time since he had been assigned to monitor outlaw activity, Kyle had more than just a gut feeling and some circumstantial evidence. Hal just shook his head.

“Give it up Kyle. Jason Todd is a wanted outlaw. Even if I believed you- and I don’t- you could never finesse that story to a jury. They will take you down if you try and stand with him, Kyle. You will be accused of acting as an accessory. Even if you’re exonerated, you could lose your badge. Do you understand? You might never work as a Marshal again.”

Kyle had never seen Hal look like this. Sure, he had seen Hal look frightened, and look angry, but never helpless. It was enough that Kyle almost wanted to bow his head, and let this go. But if he were going to lose his badge for standing up, he would lose it for backing down. There was not a single part of Kyle that could accept that this was the only way. He was a Green Badge  _because_ he believed that the truth would win out. Kyle was not going to let that simple truth fail now just because he was scared, not in the blackest days and not in the darkest nights.   

Hal would forgive him, eventually. He had created the Green Badge branch of the Marshals after all.

There had to be something. If Kyle had learned anything as Guy’s partner, it was that there was always a way out. Jason had probably run by now out, but that was okay. Kyle could still work with that. They wouldn’t find any evidence against him that was more than circumstantial. Maybe Kyle could look over the scene. Then again they probably wouldn’t let him investigate a crime he was technically accused of, would they?

Kyle looked back across the police lines, at the bit of brick wall he expected to be empty. Instead Jason Todd looked right back at him. He gave a little wave.

And that’s when it hit Kyle.

It hit him like that Neo-Nazi in the 7/11 parking lot in Tennessee, like watching his mother’s antique watch sink into into the La Brea Tar pits, like knowing that they were watching a gang of poachers in South Dakoda break the law _right in front of them_. It hit him like the first blue norther he had ever experienced.  

“Spousal privileges,” Kyle said.

Hal looked back at Kyle, his mouth gaping.

“I . . . What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m invoking spousal privileges!” Kyle began to feel an exceptional lightness that made him want to jump and shout.

“You’re not married,” Hal said.   

Four years after Jason and Kyle had first met, one thing was still true: Jason Todd was always ready to jump in after Kyle. He had put that Neo-Nazi in the ground after he had hit Kyle. He had jumped into a tar pit after Kyle had dropped his watch. He had hot-wired a trio of nearby dirt bikes to chase down poachers when Kyle said he couldn’t stand to let this go. One way or another, they had always made it out, no matter what shit they got up to.

So Kyle Rayner looked Hal Jordan in the eye, and he said:

“I am married to Jason Peter Todd. Or, actually we're engaged. But we will be married!”  

There was a solid four seconds of silence where Hal just looked at him, with his mouth hanging open. Then he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” he said. Kyle straightened up a little bit.  

“You are legally not allowed to force me to testify against him,” Kyle said. Hal just shook his head and screwed up his face in absolute despair. In different circumstances, Kyle would have taken a photo and used it as the new Hal Memetm in the group chat but he figured that would be in bad taste right now.  

“You are not- you are not married to Jason Todd,” Hal said. He looked at Kyle’s ring finger just to make sure. Then he nodded to himself with the distinct air of a man who wasn’t entirely sure he was still sane.

“I am! Watch,” Kyle said, making a b-line for where Jason still sat. Hal was right on his heels.

“Oh no, I’m asking the question first,” Hal said. He elbowed his way in front of Kyle just as they made it through the police barrier.

“Are you in love with Kyle?” Hal demanded, which, okay, was definitely not the same thing as being married. Kyle could just be marrying Jason for the money or something. His foster father was loaded. But it was too late to offer that story now. Kyle’s stomach clenched, and he grit his teeth, hoping beyond hope that Jason would just roll with what was happening.

Without missing a beat Jason said, “Course I’m in love with Kyle. He’s just dreamy.” He lolled his head to the side and gave them a big dopey smile that made even his split lip and black eye seem soft and adoring.

Kyle felt his pulse spike, and his face flush bright red. Hal’s face turned bright red too, but Kyle suspected it was from sheer force of rage. After a few seconds Jason gave Kyle a look, and Kyle realized he had to keep speaking.  

“See? We’re getting married,” Kyle said. Jason nodded his head slowly. Kyle turned to Hal Jordan and smiled his most winning smile. And then Kyle felt someone’s hands on his hips, and a chin come to rest on his shoulder. Kyle sucked in a short breath, and it was only the weeks of Guy’s surprise drills that saved him from jumping out of his skin.

“What does that have to do with anything, though?” Jason asked. His voice was deceptively sweet. Kyle’s brain was glad that this whole pretending to be a couple thing would come pretty easy to Jason. His heart was a little more confused about how to feel.

“Am I dead?” Hal asked. “Is this hell?”

“I think you broke Hal, babe,” Jason said. Kyle could hear the smile in his voice.

“ _You_ broke Hal,” Kyle said.

“Bruce is going to be so proud.”

Hal stared blankly at Jason and Kyle before sighing.

“Okay, you know what? If this is how you want to play it, then fine. But just so you know I’m calling backup,” Hal said, reaching for his phone.  

Kyle sighed, “Hal, please-”

“No. I’m calling John. Kyle I hope you know what you’re doing,” Hal said. He had his cell out and was dialing before he had even finished talking. Kyle let Hal walk away with only a tiny tingle of guilt and dread in his stomach. He had made his choice and he was going to make it work. Everything was going to be just fine.  

“Alright,” Jason said, his voice still the same pleasant and gentle thing he had used a moment before. “You’re going explain _exactly_ what the fuck is going on here.”

Kyle knew that Jason had been fully disarmed when they were arrested, but Kyle still had the distinct feeling that someone was holding a gun to his head.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here are some fun alcohol facts: you can't actually make a very useful Molotov cocktail with booze. I mean it works, but it's not the huge explosion you usually in movies or videos. That requires actual explosives, like a mixture of napalm and gasoline, that you put inside of a bottle. 
> 
> Spyritus vodka has the highest proof in the world, is only like 17 dollars, and can be bought in most states. Do with that information what you must. 
> 
> The word "proof" comes from the practice of pouring whiskey over gunpowder and lighting it. If it would burn off, and ignite the gunpowder underneath. This was known as "proof" that the whiskey was strong, what we would know as 100 proof.


End file.
